


The pearl of the north

by Patatarte



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Dreaming, M/M, Missing Scene, Mutual Pining, jonmundweek2020, naked jon being pretty, our boy tormund might have a slight case of worshipping the Snow, sharing bed for warmth, so it's sexy time in dreams, wet dreams ? it counts as wet dreams, you know how it is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:48:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23269468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Patatarte/pseuds/Patatarte
Summary: It is a shame that Jon doesn't respond to his flirtatious attempts, but at least there is trust and that is worth all the kings' gold. So, to ease the fire burning inside him, the frustration of his guts, Tormund has dreams.
Relationships: Tormund Giantsbane/Jon Snow
Comments: 10
Kudos: 136





	The pearl of the north

"I have your back," Tormund told Jon once, and he kept having it. He saw the crow running into battles first line and saved him from certain death. At times, those dark eyes looked at him with respect and something more, something he didn't know could be real.

That night, Tormund held Jon tightly in a small tent, cursing at the cold. They were exhausted, the crow so small in his embrace, shivering in his sleep and mumbling words he screamed on some battlefield hours or months ago. Tormund made sure he was asleep before burying his nose into the black curls, gaining a bit of warmth for his body and soul, knowing it would also give a bit of peace to the man.

It is a shame that Jon doesn't respond to his flirtatious attempts, but at least there is trust and that is worth all the kings' gold. So, to ease the fire burning inside him, the frustration of his guts, Tormund has dreams.

In one of his dreams, Tormund is still a prisoner at castle black, sitting in the shadows, restrains heavy on his wrists. Even in the dream, he feels slightly ashamed to enjoy being in chains. Something like that would be so dreadful in the wild, so easy to result in death, but here he knows he'll be safe.

Jon is standing in the room, looking down on him. He looks ethereal, skin too pale but not unhealthy, just a pretty boy with kissable lips. Tormund wants to ruin him but the chains are too tight against the stone wall, rattling but not moving. Jon smiles, smug. The dark cloak he was wearing falls on the floor, his clothes slowly taken off by his own expert fingers, exposing more pale skin and a dark trail of hair, all looking soft to the touch.

He probably is just as perfect in real life as he is in that dream, just with more scars. Tormund's knows well that Jon isn't as delicate as he wants him to be. For a castle boy, he can fight well and understood the complexity of the free folks like no one before Mance. Tormund wants to have him, to bend his small frame, to mark and have him unmade. How gorgeous he would be, accepting to surrender under his touch.

That version of Jon doesn't talk much, even less than the Jon he knows, but it's fine. Words can be shown with the eyes and Jon's gaze is clear like crystal as he drops his last piece of clothing. He is hungry, his manhood twitching at the messy ideas Tormund is projecting on him.

Castle black should be cold but Jon makes the room too warm to bear. He walks close and drops to his knees in front of Tormund, his lovely thighs on each side of Tormund's ones, burning his skin through the fabric of his clothes. Fine fingers are digging into the fiery hair, massaging, their foreheads touching, intimate, sharing an exhale.

At first, they brush their noses and Tormund's heart flips a bit at that. It pulls on his deepest desire. He wants Jon as a whole, his full body and mind, to protect and call him his own. He would truly die for him, he is part of his people now.

In those dreams, Tormund can freely show his emotions, love dripping from his eyes as Jon pulls back to look at him. Their eyes were meant to find each other as the ice meeting the night, same as their lips of opposites. Jon always kisses him like a prince in his mind, all expensive and fancy, soft, well mannered, lush, something forbidden.

Tormund wishes he could touch him, his wrists making the chains rattle again, breaking the silence. Jon just smiles, that sweet bastard. He removes Tormund's clothes around his essential part, teasing with a touch as soft as feathers, making him gasp. He'd come undone with these fingers any day if he could. His eyes flutter close for a second and when he opens them again, Jon is positioning himself, making an arc of his body.

No, little crow, not so soon, it'll hurt you ! Tormund doesn't talk but scream inside, doesn't want to see pain on Jon's face, only the ecstasy he knows he can offer him. He knows he can have him undone until the man forgets his name and all the ranks he had. Tormund knows how to kill and make love, to all genders. Jon hasn't even touched a man before, it isn't at all like with a woman, he doesn't know-

Well, in that dream he did, in more than one way, now sinking onto Tormund with ease, eyes rolling in his skull, hands gripping hard on his shoulders. Tormund doesn't know how Jon would move or sound in that situation, his dream keeping the crow silent, his breathing moving his fine chest up and down in a controlled way.

Jon can be the smug bastard, the shy one, the lost boy. Tormund dies to know which one would be the Jon he would suck dry, or the one he'd take on castle black's intendant's desk.

He wants him soft in his arms, laughing, cheeks pink, sharing stories and a meal next to a fire.

He wants him weak and trembling after a nightmare of battlefields and rains of blood, knowing Tormund would be there to chase the dark memories away.

He wants him angry and loud, needing answers and hope on really cold and dark nights.

He wants him against his skin under warm pelts, sweaty and content, their limbs tangled.

The man dances on him now. It feels so good but it is just a dream. Of course that face he's picturing on Jon is what he wants, but he'd accept anything else from the little crow. Even if they become intimate, maybe Jon wouldn't want to be taken, and that's fine. Hell, Tormund would take it if that is what would please his crow. He'd learn.

Tormund opens his eyes after the end of the dream shook him back to reality. He feels warm, and content. Jon doesn't shiver anymore, his hands balled against Tormund's chest. He seems more well-rested now.

As he's about to drift back to sleep, the redhead hears whimpers from the crow. A small "please" escapes his lips, sounding to come from a place of pleasure and not despair. Tormund smiles, seems like Jon is having a sweet dream of his own, good. The redhead relaxes again, glad his crow is having some positive time on his own, no matter who the dream is about.

"Tormund- yes" is barely a whisper ending on a satisfied exhale.

Tormund loses his smile for a moment, taken aback by it but then it is back, brighter than ever. The crow is dreaming of him, and with the sweet sounds he's making, it probably isn't about some mundane shit like hunting or picking roots together.

The redhead tighten his grip on Jon just a bit, his nose deep into the curls, feeling the moves of his body and soft exhales, warm and beautiful. Oh the joy of hearing him say his name in that moment of pleasure, Tormund cherishes it.

Some day, Jon will accept his feelings when awake and until then, Tormund will have his back, waiting, knowing and protecting his pearl of the north.


End file.
